The struggle was a silent, desperate thing. Jason, lost in a hell of his own making, fought with the feral strength of a cornered animal. Roy, grunting with the effort, his terror a cold knot in his stomach, held on for dear life.
"Yes!" Artemis barked, answering her own question as her hands flew over Jason's armored form. She ripped a combat knife from his boot and flung it into a distant wall. She found a garrote wire sewn into his jacket collar and tore the whole panel free. "Two explosive charges on his belt, minimal yield, but more than enough." With deft, powerful fingers, she disarmed them and tossed the inert bricks aside. "The guns are the obvious choice. He'll go for another."
Bizarro, his face a mask of confused anguish, didn't know what to do. He rocked back and forth, his huge hands clenching and unclenching. "Little Wing hurt? Why Little Wing want to hurt? Bizarro fix?"
"Not that way, Biz," Roy said, his voice strained as Jason nearly bucked him off. "Just... just stand guard. Don't let anyone near."
The screech of tires and the soft thud of grapnel lines hitting the rooftop announced the arrival of help. Nightwing and Batwoman landed in a crouch, taking in the chaotic scene in an instant: Scarecrow nursing a broken nose, a destroyed firearm on the ground, Artemis disarming a thrashing Red Hood, and Roy Harper using all his strength to keep his best friend from killing himself.
"Status!" Nightwing commanded, his voice cutting through the panic.
"Fear toxin, worst-case scenario! He's trying to eat his own gun!" Roy yelled. "We can't calm him down, his vitals are spiking!"
Batwoman was already moving to cover Scarecrow, ensuring he couldn't capitalize on the distraction. Nightwing approached the struggling pair, his movements calm and deliberate, a direct contrast to the chaos.
"Jason," Dick said, his voice firm but devoid of the judgment Jason's nightmare-version would have had. "Jason, listen to me. It's not real."
In Jason's world, the voice was a lie. Another trick. Nightwing's form blurred, superimposing over the leering face of the Joker. "He's here to put you back in your box," the Joker whispered. "The first and favorite. He's always hated you for trying to take his place."
"Get away from me!" Jason roared, finally throwing Roy off with a surge of Pit-enhanced strength. He scrambled backwards, his bloodied hands—bloodied only in his mind—clawing at his own face. "Don't touch me! I know what I am! I see it now!"
He was backing towards the roof's edge.
"Jay, no!" Dick pleaded, holding his hands up, slowly inching forward. "Whatever you're seeing, it's a lie. Crane made it. It's designed to break you."
"IT SHOWED ME THE TRUTH!" Jason screamed, tears cutting through the grime on his face. His heel hit the low concrete ledge. "It showed me what I really am! A monster! A failure! Bruce's greatest mistake!"
The words were a lance through Dick's heart. He saw the absolute, devastating conviction in his brother's eyes. Logic wouldn't reach him. Reason was dead. There was only one language Jason's core, buried under the toxin and the trauma, might understand.
Dick stopped advancing. In one smooth, deliberate motion, he reached up and removed his own mask.
He stood there, exposed on the Gotham rooftop, not as Nightwing, but as Dick Grayson. His expression was open, raw, and filled with a pain that mirrored Jason's own.
"Then I'm a failure too, Jason," Dick said, his voice softer now, begging. "I'm your big brother. It was my job to protect you. And I wasn't there. I failed you. If you're a monster, then I'm the one who let the monster out of the cage."
The raw, unexpected admission cut through the hallucinatory static for a split second. The Joker's laughter stuttered. The visions of his fallen family flickered.
Jason froze, his chest heaving, confusion warring with the paralyzing fear.
It was the opening Roy needed. He didn't tackle him. He didn't grab him. He just moved forward and wrapped his arms around his friend in a bone-crushing hug, pulling him away from the edge.
"It's me, Jaybird," Roy whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's just me. Your stupid, reckless, alive best friend. Artemis is right here. Bizarro is here. We're all here. We're real. We love you. You didn't hurt us. You couldn't."
The physical contact, the familiar voice, the undeniable truth in Dick's unmasked vulnerability—it created a crack in the toxin's hold.
Jason’s rigid body went limp against Roy. A broken, gut-wrenching sob tore from his throat. The monstrous visions dissolved, leaving only the crushing, horrifying echo of what he’d believed he’d done.
"They... I saw... I thought..." he choked out.
"I know," Roy said, holding him tighter. "We know. But it's over. We've got you. You're not alone."
Over Roy's shoulder, Jason's bleary, tear-filled eyes met Dick's. The older brother gave a small, shaky nod of affirmation.
The fight was gone. The panic attack began to recede, replaced by a wave of utter exhaustion and soul-deep shame. The real world, with its real allies and his very much alive family, began to slowly, painfully, reassemble itself around him. The nightmare was over. For now.
